


To Render Him Helpless

by RyMagnatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Video Recording, consensual weird sex drugs, i mean super light dom/sub ok, implications of i suppose porn videos and whatnot, its just really weird and sexy, plus porn site, so yeah if youre into that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan simply wants to give up control for a little while, just an hour or two, and to feel good. He found a couple of guys who do this, for a cost, and decides to trust them. </p><p>Dave enjoys his work, he really does, because he can admire such fine bodies up close and personal and he can get it all on tape. </p><p>Bro has needs and when these needs are satisfied, he is a content man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Check the Box

It doesn’t seem like any sort of fancy place when you show up. Just some apartment at the top of a building full of apartments, but that’s the address you were given so that’s the address you go to. They told you to write down the date, the time and a handful of things you’d done that week, that day. “For later” was the only instruction on why.

This was all kinds of sketchy, but for all the uneasiness that you felt, it was also very professional. The correspondence had been polite, efficient and punctual. Plus, they had not only asked but insisted you told at least one person where you were going when you left, just in case. In case of what, you didn’t know, but you had done as you were instructed.

You ride the elevator up to the top floor, wrinkling your nose a little at the smell of it and pulling your coat tighter around yourself. This was one of the more miserable parts of town. You hadn’t driven your car here, that was another instruction, but had gotten a ride with one of your friends. Or rather you’d gotten a ride with your sort of descendant-ancestor Cronus while he went out to some party of some assholes he knew.

Thinking back on it, having Cronus be you’re person-who-knew-where-you-were might have been a bad choice, but it was too late to go back on that now, and besides, at least he didn’t insist you give him gas money just for a quick jaunt downtown. The top floor smells a hell of a lot cleaner than the elevator, and looks like it’s been renovated as well. You step out into the hallway, and the moment the elevator doors close you notice something strange.

You can’t hear a single sound. Nothing. Nothing from the world outside, nothing from the apartments below, hell, nothing from any of the rooms up here. Upon closer inspection, you realize that there are only two doors in the very center of the hall way. They are opposite each other. The one on the left has nothing but a number on the front of it. _14_.

The one on the left has the number _3_ on the front, as well as a sign underneath it that says: _Knock. This is the door you were looking for._

You pull open your phone and double check the instructions you were given. This was, in fact, the door you were looking for. So you shove your phone away and knock on the door.

You’re nervous. You’ve never done this before. But they were reviewed as the best, and, after all, the best is what you deserved.

It only takes a minute before the door swings open. A tall human opens it. He has blonde hair trapped under a ball cap and pointed shades covering his eyes. He leans against the door frame with his hip and holds it open with his hand. You can’t help but notice how long his arm is, how strong, for a human, he looks and that smug as fuck look on his face. You lock your knees into place to keep from taking a step back, because he lowers his shades and the look in his eyes is all predatory.

It’s a look you’ve seen plenty of times, on animals you study, on people you meet, on yourself in the reflection of a glass, some water, a mirror, someone’s glasses from time to time, but there’s nothing in this gaze that is soft. Nothing except for, perhaps, the way it says _I’m going to fuck you until you forget who you are_ instead of _I am going to tear out your heart and eat it raw._

You’ve done your research of him, of this place, though, so you don’t look away, you don’t back down, and you just wait. You’ve read about how people show weakness and he shuts the door on them. You’ve read about how they turn away and he laughs at them. You’ve read plenty of people who fucked up and can’t get back in, because the thing is about this guy and his friend is that they’re good.

They have a specific set of skills and they are the only people who do what you need done in the way that you need it done.

The judgment period lasts for you don’t know how long, before he pushes his shades up and smiles. He turns and gestures inside, “Welcome.”

The room looks like an upper class waiting room. Fake potted plant in the corner, with a sword sticking up out of the dirt like it’s part of the plant, little couches, little coffee table with magazines on it. They look like gardening ones, or bird watcher magazines, instead of gossip rags you would find at a doctor’s office somewhere. They also look like they’ve been drawn on with magic marker.

He closes the door behind you with enough force to make you jump a little. He locks the door as well, and you’re more than a little surprised to see three separate locks on it. He just gives you a smile when you look from the locks to him, and says, “Take a seat, will you? My buddy will be out with a little something for you to sign and agree to, all right? Want some water or coke?”

“Water,” you say simply. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and is out of the room a hell of a lot faster than you think a grown human should be able to move. You settle down on the couch, looking around at the other curious decorations. There are paintings on the wall, but one is, you swear, a sexy pose of a wizard. It’s a little hard to tell, because it looks like it’s been blown up fifty times larger than it should, so all the edges of the picture are fuzzy as hell. Another picture on the wall is a majestic scene of a beach with horses racing across it, or it would be if the horses were not, in fact, centaurs. The detail on that one is amazing. You swear you can see the individual strands of hair on the lead centaur’s head.

There’s a grandfather clock against one wall that looks like there’s an actual grandfather inside of it, old, wrinkly and stuffed.

What the fuck is up with these humans.

“It was a gift.”

You twist around on the couch and look up to see another human walking in. Blonde like the last one, but with different shades, and instead of wearing a plain white T-shirt and some jeans, he’s wearing a nice button down shirt, slacks and a black tie. He offers a little smile and hands out a clipboard with a paper. “Both of them, actually. One a gift from my sister and another a gift from one of his past boyfriends.”

He takes a seat on the coffee table, crossing his legs at the knees. You see he’s holding a camera in his hands. He fiddles with the settings as he talks. “As you should know already, the cocktail of drugs we’ll be using in your session can be quite powerful. It’s a necessity because of your subspecies inherent immunity to most human drugs. It is that strong because we do not use sopor, at all,” he flashes you a smile with an edge like a knife to it.

You feel your mouth begin to water.

“Since we don’t use sopor, we have to use other things. Because of that there could be certain side effects, such as short term memory loss and slurred speech and whatnot. There shouldn’t be any development of dependency, however, you’re the first violetblood we’ve had actually make it this far so we don’t know for sure.”

In any other circumstance you would snarl at that. You weren’t some guinea pig for some human experiment. But the whole point of this was to, well, be a guinea pig with some people you didn’t have to see every damn day of your life but that you could trust.

“Anyway, so fill out that sheet there, then we’ll get your video recorded testimony that we aren’t doing this against your will and we can begin. Seems simple, doesn’t it?”

You look down to the single page you need to fill out. “Yes,” you remark. “A little too simple.”

He laughs and says, “Some things are complicated enough on their own without a stack of forms to fill out. You made it this far, it’s unlikely you won’t make it all the way into the bedroom.”

Unwillingly, you feel your cheeks flush with blood. Your fins, thankfully, remain close to your face. You chew on the inside of your cheek and turn your attention to the paper. It is deceptively simple, you realize.

The information they request are those things you accomplished this week, as well as the contact information for the person who would be picking you up. And then there were a series of words with unchecked boxes next to them. Words that listed kinks you’ve heard of and ones  you’ve never even seen before. You’d ask what they were, but you can feel his smirk and you’d rather not get another chuckle from him at your expense so soon. You check the boxes of what you want and then hand over the paper.

He lifts up the camera and says, “Just say whatever comes to mind, Mr. Ampora, so long as you confirm that this is a consensual meeting.” He pushes a button and then adds, “We’re recording.”

Your gaze turns from his face to the camera. It’s a sleek, sophisticated thing. Or at least you think so. You honestly didn’t know much about them. You take in a deep breath and let it out through your nose to calm yourself down. “I’m Eridan and I arranged this meetin’. What happens to me tonight is somethin’ I want to happen and whatever the consequences a this evenin’ turn out to be, I am prepared to accept them. I was not coerced into this in the least,” you glance down, “I’m actually kinda excited.”

“As you should be,” He says suddenly, “There’s no reason not to be excited. You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, haven’t you been?”

“Ah. Yes.” You look to the man. You nervously rub your hands together, wondering if checking the _video recording_ box was such a good idea after all. You just needed to know everything that happened to you.  You needed to know that they didn’t laugh at you while they…they did what they were going to do. “Quite a while.”

He turns the camera suddenly to your right, and there’s the first one, coming in with a glass of water. He lifts his other hand in a little wave and a “Yo.” He stops beside you on the couch, but doesn’t sit. He hands you the glass. “Drink up, buddy.”

You suddenly feel more nervous than before, but you take the water and drink it. You don’t taste anything unnatural in it, though. You wonder exactly how they were going to proceed to the next part, since it seemed your filled out paper satisfied them. You drain the glass and the first one takes it back. You clear your throat and ask, “So, what are your names?”

The man in the suit smiles and says, “Don’t worry about it. You won’t be needing them later. You won’t be able to speak coherently at all.”

You’d be a hell of a lot more against that if it didn’t make your insides clench with a fierce, burning desire. Oh yes. You were definitely going to want video of this.


	2. Those Fucking Ridges

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited about this. You’d be lying right through your teeth and Bro would be laughing his ass off at you if he heard you say it. Seadweller’s the only one you haven’t had locked away in your backroom yet. They either chicken out or turn out not to be seadwellers at all, just posing as one right up to your office door. You don’t know why they think they can lie about it and get away with it. It’s not like you aren’t going to peel away their clothing and then their minds to find out what’s inside. They’re fools, fucking lying little fools and they are what make you sometimes hate this chosen path.

But then there are days like this. Days like heaven has opened up and in walks in the most delicious, beautiful creature you’ve yet laid eyes on. His fins are intact, his hair is luxurious, his horns are beautiful gleaming handlebars and you’re chomping at the bit to get him out of his clothing. Fucking hell, his _clothing._ If you could compress _pomp_ and _douchebag_ and _classy motherfucker_ all into thread and fabric and weave it into clothing, it would be those tight ass pants he’s wearing, and that silk shirt, that vest and you cannot fucking believe it an honest to god miniature cape like coat.

You can’t wait to peel it off of his flushed, needy body.

He follows you readily enough into the backroom. He seems disinclined to ask about every little thing he comes across. You know Bro'll like that about him, though honestly you could do with hearing him talk a little more. Sure, you’ll be hearing his voice plenty in the next hour or two, but he sounds like he could talk for fucking hours on shit you don’t care about and still make you want to tongue fuck his mouth to taste those words in it.

All right, maybe you’re getting a little carried away with yourself. You loosen your tie so you can breathe easier. You feel his vivid purple eyes on you, on your every action, as he stand in that bedroom in the back. It’s the sultry room, so named because of the dim lighting, the finer bed sheets and the velvet ties on the headboard and baseboard of the bed. He requested something domestic, sensual, instead of the cold metal and industrial feel that a lot of your clients come in asking for.

This one wants to not give up his control to any monster, but to a kind master. You find it charming. Charming enough, in fact, that you slip your tie off your neck entirely and smile to him. You gesture to the bed, “Go ahead, Eridan. Get comfortable.”

He looks at you with unease in his gaze, but he obeys. You ignore the unease. That will be gone soon enough.

You gesture to Bro to get the cameras going. There are a few stationary ones to get on, set up around the room in advantageous positions, as well as one on the ceiling and another handheld one. Sometimes one camera simply wasn’t enough, and the more you worked with video, the more you realized how much you liked to have different angles, different positions to view things in. The story could be so different, depending on which angle you viewed it from.

And with your very first sea troll, you don’t think there will ever be enough film to work with in the editing room.

Bro gets busy with that while you kneel on the bed beside Eridan. You unbutton his coat for him, help him out of it before tossing the cloth aside. He looks annoyed that you’re treating his clothing so poorly, but you just smile and push him down, gently.

He lays back, eyes on you, riveted, focused like only the nearly unblinking eyes of a seadweller can be. You love it, love the attention. You kneel over him, knees on either side of his hips. He opens his mouth and you shush him with a finger to his lips, “Ah ah, you requested no information to be given to you. Just relax and feel, Eridan. I promise, you’ll be quiet satisfied with the results.”

There’s a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment on his face that makes his fins twitch, just a little. You smile and run your hand down from his mouth to his neck, from his neck to his collar bone and then down his chest to his waist. You move your fingers up slowly, unbuttoning his vest with little soft humming noises. About halfway up, the background music to the room turns on. Eridan almost immediately recognizes it. How could he not? It’s mostly ocean waves and sounds of seagulls, with a simple, elegant melody being played over the sound.

You feel his heart hammering under his fingers and you lean in, putting a little weight on your hand, “If you like, after, we can send you home with a copy of this CD.”

“Yes.” He breaths out the word. He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say the word again, more firmly, but you cut him off again.

This time, however, you do it with a kiss.

Eridan’s shocked gasp is a delight to feel under your palm. You’ve still got your shades on so you don’t even bother closing your eyes, but he does. After a second or two, of course, once he realizes what you’re doing. He closes his eyes tightly and kisses you back like you’re the first fresh breath of air he’s had in years. One of his hands curls around the front of your shirt and you hum softly.

You pull back, just an inch, just enough to speak instead of kiss. “Arms up above your head, love.” He shudders under your touch and you smile. Nicknames were a plus then. Good to know.

He lifts his arms up and you slide the vest off of him. Next you slip your hand down and, with just the one hand, you unbutton his shirt. You pull on the cloth to untuck it and then pull that up and off of his body as well. Running your fingers across his shoulders, you give a low, appreciative whistle. You’ve seen more than your fair share of ripped bodies in your life, one of those being Bro’s very nicely chiseled chest, but this body.

You don’t realize your moaning until you hear Bro’s soft chuckle and his words, “Cool it, kid.”

You would shoot him a glare, but Eridan’s eyes worship you and you are _basking_ in that. You can’t even feel annoyed Bro would interrupt you.

Eridan’s muscle definition isn’t like some clay sculpture of a man, no, but there is strength under that grey skin. Strength that could crack bones and bend bars. Strength that could carry you around without any trouble at all. It’s sinew, not bricks of muscle, it’s all lean and streamlined and it’s driving you crazy.

You intended to tie his wrists up as soon as you got his shirt off, but you spend your time touching his arms, exploring the subtle curve of muscle in them. You kiss the inside of his wrist, down to his elbow. You run fingers up along his bicep and move his arm, watching the muscles flex under your hands. What you do with one arm you do to the other, until you’ve touched every inch of them.

Then you pick up your abandoned tie and tell him to hold onto the headboard.

It’s made of steel surrounded in polished wood and padded with velvet, for comfort. You loop the cloth of the tie expertly over his wrists and around the pole until he’s bound good and tight. When you ask if it’s too tight, he whispers that it’s fuckin’ fine.

You kiss him eagerly, tasting the curses right on his tongue.

He arches into the kiss, trying to keep you close without the use of his hands. His wrists pull on the headboard, you can hear it shaking as you kiss him. You didn’t even have to ask permission to come inside with a touch of your tongue to his lips. He opened up to you and gave you everything from the very beginning. You grip a fistful of hair with one hand and hold his cheek and jaw with his other.

When he sucks on your tongue, you reward him by dragging your fingers through his hair and beside his hornbeds. The groan that rocks through him pushes right through into you and goes straight to your groin. You have to pull back from the kiss, panting for breath while you do, and shift where you’re kneeling.

It’s not time yet to give any attention to anything below his belt, so you lift yourself up on your knees and use your shins to hold down his thighs, keeping him from arching up to touch you. You can see the way his jaw clenches and hear the strained breath that means he’s holding back a whine. You’ve heard it before and you know it’s only happening because he hasn’t been drugged yet.

You can tell, from the look in his eyes, that he’s wondering when that will happen, how it will happen, and why it hasn’t happened yet.

You think, that for someone who needed services like yours to really give up control, he was doing a damn good job at not asking any questions. But then you tilt your head to the side and you consider it a different way. Maybe he just had too much control over himself to ask.

Possibilities, possibilities.

Yet you weren’t here to psychoanalyze him, you were here to make him writhe and beg, so you dip your head back down and start memorizing his body with the use of your mouth and fingertips.

You start by kissing along his jaw and skating just under his earfin. You can see it filling with color, going from a nearly translucent grey to a vivid violet. You’re really beginning to like that color. You kiss his neck under his fin and discover that behind them were three thin little lines. Gills.

With a sound of delight, you run the flat of your tongue over the slits, from bottom to top.

His whole body reacts, from a surprised, and pleased, yelp, to flaring fins, yanking arms and arching back. You do it again, slower, and then blow across the damp skin and he groans. It sounds almost like a sob. His fin flips back and forth, smacking you in the face. You laugh softly, instead of getting pissed, and turn your attention to the fin. You catch it with your lips and lick. You tease the membrane with tongue and lips and the ridges, much like spines, that held up the membrane you gently bit at.

He held perfectly still when your mouth was on his fin, as though he was afraid even to breathe. You drag your teeth across the top spine and he suddenly shudders. You hear something wet moving against cloth and slowly lift your head. You look up and see Bro smirking. You arch an eyebrow and he nods.

Turning  your attention back to Eridan, you meet his gaze and say, “You liked that, hm? Gets you all flustered and wet, doesn’t it darling?”

And there’s your very first whimper as he closes his eyes. His hips are moving on their own, you bet, trying to reach something to rub against. Your legs hold him down firmly, though, and he isn’t so far gone yet that he is bucking you off with that strength you know he’s got in his legs.

You turn his head a little and then murmur, “Time to test out your other little fin then.”

The groan he gives is from deep in his chest and _fuck_ do you love this job.

He can’t get a steady breath by the time that you’ve finished with both fins and both sets of gills on his head. You lean back and catch your own breath, getting a little distance. You unbutton your shirt while turning to look to Bro.

He lowers the camera slightly and says, “Time for the cocktail?”

“Time for the cocktail.” Bro smirks and puts down the camera long enough to get the drug mixture in the box on the other side of the room.

You feel Eridan shudder between your knees and look down at him. You’re surprised at how much sanity and coherence is in those eyes. You smile to him and lean in, “You’re going to love this part, babe.”

He chuckles softly. “Lovin’ it already.”

You give him a quick kiss, murmuring in pleasure as he kisses you back earnestly. You hear Bro approaching but you keep kissing. That kind of dexterity with the tongue and motor function is one of the first things to go when you put something like this in your veins, so you want to get all of the kissing you can out of him before he gives in to his senses.

“Ready,” you hear Bro say. Reluctantly you pull back from the kiss and sigh.

You take the needle and alcohol swab from him with a nod. You run the small swab over a spot on Eridan’s throat, murmuring to him to lift his chin. You can see his pulse racing in his vein, the very same vein that you slide that tiny needle into. You push the drugs into his system with a steady hand, humming gently as you do. With the needle empty, you hand it back to Bro and wait for the change to go into effect.

There’s a drop or two of purple blood that drips from the hole, but soon that clots up just fine.

You lean forward, resting on one elbow as you run your fingers through his hair. You watch his eyes, smiling gently. You give him small kisses, across his mouth and his fin and you know exactly when the drugs kick in.

He goes from mumbling half-heartedly in pleasure to shivering at every touch in about five seconds. You nip at the end of a fin and he groans louder than he has yet. You lift your head and gently pull off his glasses. You hold those out and Bro takes them as well.

Eridan’s eyes have dilated until they’re huge black circles with little rims of violet. It’s like looking into a well, or perhaps a deep pool inside of a cave. In either case, it was lovely and you knew at that moment on he was yours.

You run your hands down his chest, loving the way that he hisses. You know his skin would be on fire with every little sensation he was getting. Each scratch of your nails or rub of your fingertips made him squirm and whimper. When your nail catches on his nipple, he bites his lip, then gasps and shudders.

You follow your scratching with kisses. He squirms underneath your touches. As you slowly learn the curves of his body and natural paths of his muscles, he falls to pieces. The first time you bite him he chokes back a scream. The second time he doesn’t even bother.

He starts begging for more long before you get down to his hips. You litter his waist with hickeys and bite marks, using most of your body weight to hold down his legs. This close to his crotch, you can hear that wet sound that a bulge makes when all it has to curl around is itself. You can smell that strange, slightly salty musk that belongs only to a sea dweller.

You have to lift your head up and take deep breaths of air to clear your head, because this is the part that always gets to you. Bro is always there with the camera, following your movements, your mouth and your fingers, as you pull loose the belt on Eridan’s pants and then finally, _finally_ , his pants themselves. You’re biting your lip as you pull down those tight fucking pants because there’s nothing underneath but that brilliant, violet bulge.

It curls and coils around on itself like an eel, mindless in its desire to find something to cling to. You study it for a while, just watching it move and twist while catching your breath. Then you look to the camera and say, “Fucking ridges. Look, look at it,” you gesture to the writhing tentacle-dick. “I know that dickfins would be stupid to believe in but look at those. Those are very fucking definitely ridges on his cock.”

“Yup,” Bro’s voice is dry as ever. You glare up at him but he just raises his eyebrows.

You mutter curses under your breath and work to get the rest of Eridan’s pants off.

Just like his arms, his legs are lean and muscular. Perhaps more so than his arms. You run your fingernails down his thighs hard enough to scratch, leaving lighter lines in the grey. He bends his legs, spreads his legs, exposing not just his twisting bulge but his dripping nook. Your fingers dig in deeper to his skin, making him scream.

You slide your hands up his legs. You know your hands are shaking and you can’t fucking stop them. Honestly you don’t even try. You’ve lost your cool so long ago you can’t even remember where it went. There’s nothing quite like looking at this violet blooded troll, this Eridan, as he writhes under your fingers, begging for more when all you do is rub small circles on the insides of his thighs with your thumb. You watch as his bulge begins to stiffen as more and more blood begins to fill it.

All the stimulus with none of the relief. It made him curse louder and louder. When all other trolls can’t even make coherent words, Eridan just shouts “fuck” over and over. Well, “Fuck” and “more”. But still, two words was better than anyone else you’d given this cocktail to before.

Your shaking has only gotten worse when you take your hands off of him and begin to work on your own belt. You want to bend down and taste him, to see how far down your throat that dick will go before you start really desperately needing breath. But you know if you do that you’ll end up half drowning in his cum. That’s the fucking problem with bedding trolls on this cocktail, you thought with an angry grunt. They always came enough to fill a bucket.

There was some call back to historical shit that went with that, something about drones and pheromones and actual, literal buckets, but you’ve got your pants off now and you’re more focused on how those ridges will feel inside of you than anything else.

With one hand you reach down to guide his cock into place, but it curls around your hand and squeezes and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from making your own undignified whimpering noises. You’ve got time for that _later,_ when you’ve finally—fuck!

Bro decided to help you, apparently, because you feel an extra pair of hands reaching down and getting that cock up against you. You groan as he gets the tip of it inside of you and then hiss when he doesn’t move his hands, “I’ve got it!”

He chuckles and you feel him wipe his fingers off on your back. You twist around to growl at him but he’s got the camera in place and he’s zoomed in right where violet tentacle is pushing, writhing its way inside of your body.

You ignore him and instead lean forward, gripping Eridan’s upper arms and pushing yourself down. It’s slow going because he twists around underneath you. You feel Bro’s hand get in to help you a couple of times and you don’t have the mind to bitch at him because those fucking _ridges._

The noises Eridan makes are nothing to the ones you make as you finally get him up inside of you. He moves constantly, pushing and stretching and coiling and uncoiling over and over. You rock back and forth on his hips, moving enough to push those bottom inch or two in and out of your body while keeping the rest inside.

You know Bro’s getting an eyeful, but when doesn’t he? You don’t give a fuck how close he gets, because you know that after its all over and done you’re really going to want those close ups. You have a feeling you’re really going to be into this particular shade of purple for a while.

You lose track of how long you ride that writhing bulge, eyes closed as you rock back and forth, but you can tell when Eridan starts getting to his climax. For one thing, you hear scratching of claws on wood from his hands scrabbling at the headboard. For another his shouting becomes louder and, surprisingly, more vulgar.

And finally, because you lean down and bite on his fin.

He screams when he climaxes. He screams and arches his back and his hips and he fills you.

Oh sweet fucking God in heaven does he fill you. You feel your cheeks burn with a blush as you feel his purple cum fill you inside out. It hurts but at the same time feels so damn good. You rock on his dick and find yourself tumbling over your own climax.

When you come back to yourself, you’re lying down on top of Eridan, panting, and you can still feel him inside of you. You bite your lip and pull up and off slowly. You glance over your shoulder. You don’t need to check to see of Bro’s recording this, because you know he is, but you want Eridan to see your face right now later. Your lip bitten, fucked-with-pleasure face.

Bro moves the camera up to your face and smirks. You push your glasses back into place and move off the bed slowly. Purple runs down your legs wherever you move.  You can hardly stand at first, but eventually regain control of your fatigued body.

You heave a heavy sigh and run a hand through your hair. It comes back somewhat clean, but with a little purple still on it. You wipe it off on your filthy shirt and then hold out your palm. “Tag me out.”

Bro slaps your hand and then hands you the camera. “About fucking time, kid.”

You roll your eyes. Like he really could call you kid, the two of you were only three months apart in age after all. Besides, you were the one three months older than him. You check the battery on the camera and the focus and nod. “All right. Ready?”

Bro gives you one of his rare grins, “Hell yeah.”


	3. Satisfaction

You push your hat up a little and give this Ampora troll a good once over, chewing on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. On most humans, males especially, this was about the time where they had to be nursed down of the high by letting them go the fuck to sleep. But trolls had an interesting factor in their anatomy, when they were fucking, they had to come in two places, externally- which Dave took care of- and internally.

That was usually the part where you came in.

You pull off your boots and climb onto the bed. This fucker moans, just from the way your weight displaces his body on the mattress. His tentacle is a hell of a lot less active, but that nook of his is dripping enough purple to dye a hundred dresses. You chuckle at the thought of that, a line of rich as fuck women in dresses dyed from troll’s nook. You’d pay good money to see their faces when they found out where their brilliant colors came from.

His legs move sluggishly, but you get them lifted up to the angle you like and resting against your thighs. You unzip your pants, and aren’t at all surprised the troll moans at the sound. They’ve got ridiculous fucking hearing, these creatures.

You’re almost as hard as Dave was when he finally went down on the tentacle, so all you have to do is pull your dick out and line it up with that dark, slick nook.

You’re one for good hard fucks, but this troll wanted to have it drawn out. Tonight, you’re happy to oblige, because Dave’s staring like he couldn’t even think of looking anywhere else and, well, it _was_ your first seadweller too.

You push in slow and deep, as deep as you can. You’ve been in a lot of nooks and you’re surprised with the depth of this one. You give out a low whistle, because that means only one thing and Dave is going to flip his shit when he finds out.

You’ll tell him later, though, when you don’t have this moaning seadweller coming to life on your cock like he’s some robotic fucker and you’ve just plugged him in. In a way, that’s exactly what you’ve done, pushing into him and driving all those sensitive nerves in his nook haywire. You pull out just as slow, looking down to see your crotch turning purple.

Well, that was expected, honestly.

You get a better grip on his hips and push down into him again. You hear the thunk of the wooden post as he yanks his arms against it. His foul little mouth starts rattling swear words again and you outright laugh because who the _hell_ curses that much? Honestly?

But then you hit that nerve cluster in his nook and suddenly it’s a hive of activity. The walls of his nook clench around you and his body starts moving automatically around you. You groan in sheer pleasure and lean forward.

You plant yourself as deeply as you can and grip the sheets, letting his drugged out body do all the damn work for you. And work it does, grinding hips and clenching nook. Even his legs circle around your hips and hook together. He arches against you and rubs your hard cock against every part of him inside that he needs.

You pant heavily, because the sensation is insane. How could you properly describe the tendrils inside of a troll’s nook, each one of them individually rubbing against your cock but together working to bring you to orgasm? Trolls weren’t built to fuck like people did, with friction and force and pounding. They were rocking creatures, locking together bulge in nook and grinding until they were satisfied.

It takes you longer to cum that way, but not him. He keens loud enough to make Dave jerk the camera up to his face when his body decides that enough is enough and drenches you in a bucketful of purple. You ride him through it, because as he climaxes the tendrils back the hell off and you have some room to fuck him again.

You fuck him until he finally goes lax. Then you pull out and finish off with your hand. You add your spunk to Dave’s, or whatever is left of Dave’s after he lay on the troll. Then you lean back and heave a heavy, satisfied sigh. The troll is breathing evenly, there’s purple everywhere and Dave’s sitting pantsless on a chair he found somewhere still dripping more purple probably, but you’re satisfied and in the end, that’s what matters to you.

Dave turns off his hand held camera and gets up. He checks on the troll, smiling in that soft way he does when he gets attached to a client, and unties his arms. The seatroll curls in on himself slowly, obviously asleep. Dave gets one of those sopor patches from the bedside table and puts it on his shoulder. He doesn’t bother with a blanket, though. The ones on the bed are ruined anyway.

Then he looks at you and says, “You didn’t come inside.”

“Didn’t think it would be polite, you know, to knock him up.”

He barks out a laugh, “What? You’re kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding you? My entire dick fit inside of him. If that isn’t what a breeder is, then I don’t know what the fuck one is.”

He flushes red, then goes pale, then looks at the troll and turns red again. You sigh heavily and mutter to yourself, “Romantic fool.”

You leave them alone in the room together after that, because you need to shower and make some phone calls about deliveries and because you know Dave needs a few minutes to himself.

After you’ve had a chance to clean up, and Dave has as well, he joins you in the kitchen where he makes some food to eat. You work in silence at the computer while he makes a sandwich. While you tend to be methodical about your food, cooking it or arranging it just so, Dave slaps meat, cheese and lettuce on some bread and calls it good.

He asks mildly about what you’re working on, but shortly after seems like he’s run out of things to say.

As he finishes up his sandwich, there’s a thump that comes from the back room. A minute or two later, the troll arrives in the doorway, wrapped in a robe that Dave left him and wondering about the bathroom. Dave leaves you alone to take care of him. You expect him back any minute but he takes a good half hour before he comes back.

When he walks back into the kitchen there’s a fresh, little red hickey on his throat and he’s smiling his stupid sappy smile again. “I questioned him,” he says, getting a bottle of water from the fridge, “He’s good to go home but it turns out his buddy is at a party and can’t pick him up just yet.”

“He can’t stay here,” you say immediately. You tried that shit ages ago and it was awkward as hell.

“I know that,” Dave snaps, “I’m just telling you that I’m going to take him home.”

You slowly look up from your computer. You look at him in silence for a while and he stares back, unwavering. “Huh.” Is all you say.

He doesn’t question you, just lifts his chin a little.

You turn back to your work. “Have a safe drive.”

“Of course.” He grabs another water bottle, supposedly for Ampora, and heads out of the room again. Just as he crosses the threshold, you call out, “If you have a male grub first, you should name it after me.”

The sound of Dave spluttering in the hallway, just out of sight, is priceless.


End file.
